


The Ghost of You, Is Close to Me

by sleepyfaceandsnark (Sleepyfaceandsnark)



Category: mercy street, pbs mercy street
Genre: Angst, Civil War, Gen, M/M, PTSD, Sad, mercy street - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:43:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepyfaceandsnark/pseuds/sleepyfaceandsnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom gets a visit from a friend late at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of You, Is Close to Me

The night comes and Tom almost welcomes it.

He feels more at peace at night for some reason. Everyone is resting and there is no noise except for the groans coming out of the men around him, their pain not letting them rest even in sleep.

At night Tom feels less out of place less…unstable. Because odd things happen at night to everyone, even the healthy people, he tells himself.

So he doesn’t panic or even close his eyes when George comes to him. He lets his mind pretend it’s real. At least for a little while.

George looks different though, not like most of Tom’s flashbacks. He looks clean, the blood and dirt washed from his skin. He stands tall, his hair golden and shiny. He looks how he did before they were forced to join the army by their fathers. The moonlight illuminates the room in front of Tom causing the vision of the man in front of him to be almost angelic and Tom lets his name escape his mouth.

“G-George…?” He says breathlessly.

George puts his index finger to his lips, quieting Tom.  He comes over to Tom, removing his finger and letting his mouth smile, and Tom has to stop himself from smiling, has to tell himself George isn’t really here.

But he missed that smile so much. It was bright, it always calmed Tom down. It was a thing he found joy in being the last thing he saw before going to sleep, and first thing to wake up to. But now it pained him to see in this George that wasn’t actually there, maybe if he didn’t smile like he did Tom could pretend.

“You’re not real.” Tom, whispers to the apparition.

“It’s okay, Tom.” It says back coming over to his bed. Tom moves back in fear. He’s not real he’s not real.

George holds his hand to calm Tom. “It’s okay.” His accent is a thick as Tom’s but a bit smoother. It soothes Tom and he lays back in the bed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Tom opens his eyes again and George is moving on the bed next to Tom. He ignores how the bed doesn’t seem to dip and how he can’t feel extra weight on it.

George’s body turns towards Tom and Tom allows him to seek comfort in him, whether really there or not.

“Come on, Tom,” George says, grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s tell the old stories.”

And Tom smiles too, for the first time in what seems like forever. “Okay,” he says, pushing back the tears filling his eyes.

And he starts talking, talking about their fathers, about playing as kids, about kissing under the Cherry Tree when there was no one in sight. George adds to the stories too, but it’s nothing Tom never knew.

Tom falls asleep curled around his lover, peaceful for once.

He wakes hours later, they sky greying with the beginning of the early morning. He notices his bed bare and without George. He moves his hand over to feel it, a small part of him hoping it’ll be warm as it would if someone laid there. But he pulls his hand away when he feels the spot is as cool as the chilly air that surrounds him and he has to remind himself that George wasn’t there, George was never there. He curls his body to his side, facing where George should’ve been, and wraps his arms around himself. He lets his sobs escape his chapped lips, racking his body in grief stricken agony for the man he loved, and the man he lost.


End file.
